Scripted On My Fingers, Engraved On My Soul
by Crucis
Summary: A seemingly routine hunt has horrific consequences for Sam when he is critically injured. While waiting for rescue, he contemplates his life, his history and relationships.


Scripted On my Fingers

Author: Crucis

Artist: The incredibly talented Jenn Shep. Thank you for all your hard work! A writer can create a story, but an artist makes the written word come to life.

Artwork: imgur dot com slash f2ishn R

Rating: K+ for some language

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. They are the property of Eric Kripke and others of the alphabet squad. No money is being made. It's done purely out of love for the characters and the show.

Summary: A seemingly routine hunt has horrific consequences for Sam when he is critically injured. While waiting for rescue, he contemplates his life, his history and relationships.

*Hawks Nest State Park is located on 370 acres (150 ha) in Fayette County near Ansted, West Virginia. The park's clifftop overlook along U.S. Route 60 provides a scenic vista of the New River, some 750 feet (230 m) below

Mngwa* – East African – A large gray cat, stronger than a lion and able to move without a sound. It's covered in bald spots, because its victims are sometimes found with tufts of its fur in their hands*

Fingers of One Hand by Sonny James and Carole Smith

/

They thought they had killed the Mngwa and had headed back down the hiking trail. Taking a moment to catch their breath, they had stopped for a quick view of a gorgeous night sky found only in the mountains away from the cities.

It had taken 2 days with an overnight stop to travel from Kansas to Hawk's Nest in West Virginia, but once they'd gotten wind of several suspicious deaths in the popular tourist area, including two who had large tufts of hair in their hands, they knew it was time to move.

Sam's 'laptop dancing,' as Dean was prone to call it, had coughed up the legend of the Mngwa. While the brothers couldn't figure out how it had gotten in the Appalachians, everything fit, even the bits of hair.

First stop has been the coroner's office. Only one of the victims was still there, but the brutality of the death has shocked even these seasoned Hunters for whom death was a daily companion.

Next the brothers had pulled their gear, i.e. weapons, holy water, salt, extra ammo and casually headed up the trail. They'd chosen one of the lesser traveled ones to avoid awkward questions and quickly reached the 750 ft summit.

When Sam had won the "Who will play bait argument?" Dean had waited a few feet in the dense forest undergrowth for their target to show.

Both had felt when the donkey sized predator had begun to draw toward its target. Each knew the large, catlike creature had to be dealt with fast as there was no exact knowledge on how to kill the thing.

It had been decided to simply shoot it with everything they had to weaken it, then move it off trail so they could decapitate and burn.

The plan had worked like a charm. When it had approached Sam, the two had hit it with all the guns they had. The weakened creature had fallen to the ground and quickly decapitated. As it was after 11 pm, no one had been around to hear the gunshots or see the final end of the Mngwa.

They simply didn't know.

300 or so, feet from ground level, the second Mngwa had leaped from a tree and knocked both men to their knees. Sam, being the first one to rise and therefore seen as the greater threat, was attacked more strongly than Dean who was attempting to get up to go to his baby brother's aid.

Unfortunately, he'd gotten to his feet just in time to see Sam tumble off the side of the trail and down toward New River.

He could hear:

 _His brother scream_

 _The underbrush being torn up due to Sam's passage_

 _Sam's body hitting rocks and trees and he tumbled headlong toward the bottom…_

 _New River rushing below._

 _The sound of Sam's screams until they were abruptly cut off, the last one sounding far, far away…_

/

Sam knew he was in trouble the moment he could no longer feel ground beneath his feet.

He felt the broken ribs from the large rocks protruding up from the cold ground.

He felt the broken leg from the massive tree it had twisted against.

He felt the broken wrist and dislocated shoulder.

And he knew he was heading toward a river that the bitter November weather would have made iceberg cold.

/

Finally coming to a stop, Sam could hear the rushing of the churning river to his right and was grateful his fall had stopped before entering the churning water.

Sam Winchester hated falling.

Oh sure, falling down on your fanny was one thing, but a fall of any distance ranked close to Dean's Death (yes capital letters) or Gabriel and the Mystery Spot.

In spite of Gabriel finally taking a stand, Sam still hadn't quite forgiven him. A life built on blood, sorrow and loss hadn't come close to prepare him for the agony of his brother's death.

So, falling:

 _Out of a chair, no big._

 _Off a bed, okay._

 _From one story to another, dealt with by gritting teeth and tight smile._

But a long fall took him to a place he never wanted to return to, a place of pain, of sorrow and regret. Mostly though a place of extreme soul destroying torture.

The Cage.

For all eternity Sam knew he would remember the feeling of his body out of control, the loss of gravity and light as the ground closed over him and Adam.

After a fall of forever, and yet over all too soon, they'd wound up in a place no one should ever be.

Images of pain and agonized screaming, sheer terror and unimaginable horror flashed like quicksilver through his mind.

Adam

He quickly forced his mind from his younger half-brother. Dwelling on that loss would drive him crazy. Those memories had played a large part in his insanity after the wall had fallen.

Guilt drove Sam Winchester and he was a master of that particular emotion.

/

Mentally pulling himself into the present, Sam made a quick assessment.

 _Multiple broken bones_

 _Dislocation of right shoulder_

 _Broken leg or possibly legs_

 _Sprained wrist_

 _Definite concussion_

 _Broken right arm_

 _Bleeding from mouth and nose – oh yeah internal damage an absolute._

Unable to move, he knew he'd have to wait for Dean to find him.

But it was cold, so very cold due to the November weather and a light snow on the ground.

Knowing the average temperature was around 35, the brothers had dressed warmly. Warm for walking on the cold ground, not tumbling down and lying on it.

As the chill seeped in, he took a look around and realized rescue would be a bitch. Still above the tree line, he knew he'd never be able to move more toward the more level ground of the riverbank.

All he could do was wait.

/

Realizing he ran the risk of falling unconscious, Sam slowly turned his head to his left. He saw his left arm caught between his side and a sharp edged rock projecting out of the ground.

His elbow was bent with his forearm and hand reaching toward the sky. His hand was open as if to catch a softball preventing a home run.

Seeing his hand upwards brought a memory of visiting Jess and her family one year for a holiday.

Jess' dad had loved old country music and Sam, while not a huge fan recalled one of the songs she had really liked.

Oddly enough, it seemed appropriate.

 _On the fingers of one hand on the fingers of one hand  
Life can all be counted on the fingers of one hand_

 _Count your little finger on the day you born  
See the fingernail it's protection from the thorn  
Protection from the thorn of life it shields you as you grow  
The nail is a guardian until you're a child no more_

Protection

Dean, his shield and protection. Whether it was a bully at school or dad on a drunken rampage, Dean had protected him even from himself. He may have raged and fought against what he thought at that time to be his brother's refusal to see him as an adult, but he always knew, always, Dean was there.

Even during their worst of times, the two had always come back together, sometimes cracked and broken, but he always felt protected.

 _A child no more_

He could admit he'd always been Dean's child. Compliant at times, rebellious at other's, Dean was his brother first and then his dad.

While he could no longer be considered a child, he was still Dean's kid. Dean's to love, shield and protect even when Sam fought 'against the goads'.

He had and would always have shelter wherever Dean was.

He wondered if Dean knew how much his younger brother loved and needed him. Did Dean know that Sam respected more than he had anyone else? Did Dean understand he was as vital to Sam as Sam was to Dean? Did he truly understand what he'd meant when he told Dean he had looked up to and wanted to be like him since he was four years old?

 _Count your second finger as you come of age_

 _Right and wrong is clearer when you reach this page_

Exactly when one came of age was unclear as Sam continued to study his fingers.

Was it when you could walk and talk? Dress yourself? Understand the consequences of your actions or when you began to question the actions of others?

'Funny' thought Sam. He'd walked and talked early, but the world had still been an exciting place with new places to explore with each move. He'd still seen everything through eyes and a life unjaded by the shadow world the family inhabited.

Then had come the questions.

Why? Why didn't they have a mom? Why was it necessary to constantly be on the move? Why did this creature they were looking for have to die if it wasn't killing?

Why wasn't anyone listening to his silent screaming about feeling unsafe, unsecure? His fear of one day waking up to the news his brother or father had died while he was helpless to do anything?

All he had wanted was answers, answers to ensure his family's safety. To make sure they returned alive.

His fear had turned to belligerence and outright disrespect at times. He knew this and deeply regretted the fractures that had occurred within his family because of it.

He had hated living with constant fear and nightmares. The stress of worrying about his and his family's safety and been a driving force behind his leaving for Stanford.

Unfortunately, while trying to rescue himself, he'd lost Dean for a few years. While they'd had the rare occasional contact, their original closeness had been lost.

It had taken the loss of Jess to bring them back together, at least he and Dean back together. His dad had still been there, but generally circling the periphery.

He was more adult, but still his soul was in pain. Pain that had only been multiplied, not only by the hunting, Jess's death but by his own selfish foolish mistakes.

So many regrets. So many wrong decisions had been taken up and brutally defended. While he knew he and Dean had been led 'down the garden path', he had to acknowledge he had been at fault for a lot of things gone wrong.

Jess

His greatest mistake was becoming involved in her life. If he'd never, never allowed himself to believe he was out she would be alive today. Probably married with kids, happy with someone else but alive.

God, he missed her. Even with other women moving in and out of his life, Jess remained the only part of his heart not given to Dean.

He could see her long blond hair, smell the unique scent of her. Her laughter and smile were what he's held on to help survive the vicious existence he led.

His memory of her sense of humor had often given his spirits a much needed boost when things were harsh.

He wished he'd never met her, was happy he had and wondered if he's told her of his nightmares would it have a difference?

Maybe, but who really knew?

While he didn't love Dean the same way he'd loved Jess, those two were his everything. Jess's death had damn near killed him, Dean's permanent death would finish him off. He would not, could not survive that.

Ruby

Beautiful, oh so helpful, lying black hearted Ruby.

He's given her his body, his trust and maybe the beginning of his love. He had wanted to believe her sweet lies of remembering being human, wanting to help Dean and helping him destroy Lilith.

She'd played him like a harp and he'd allowed it. He'd known she was a demon, but in desperation, he'd believed every pretty lie that fell from her lips.

Wanting to believe he could save Dean, he'd danced to her tune. Even with the threats of violence and pain on her person, he's played puppet to her puppet master.

Sam knew he had stepped where told, moved as directed and played Ruby's game to the bitter end.

He'd lost and lost spectacularly. The price for losing could have been the world, but instead cost him himself.

He' screwed up, hadn't managed to save Dean and almost damned the human race to genocide.

The best of intentions to begin with, the worst results achieved.

Lilith

The queen bitch herself.

Even today, the most dominant emotion when he thought of her was anger. Anger at her having Dean's contract and his brutal death from the hell hounds.

Watching that savage death had left emotional marks that had and never would heal.

He knew Ruby had built that anger up, stoked it to full flame and kept it going, but she couldn't have accomplished that without the anger already being present.

Anger had long been a constant and sometimes welcome driving force for Sam Winchester and at least to himself, he could admit that.

When Lilith died, he'd felt…vindicated in what he'd been doing with Ruby. He'd felt justified until the awful truth had come out.

What he'd done…

What he felt he was…

Unclean was a word familiar to him. As he lay on the icy ground, he thought about the demon blood that ran through his veins.

He was almost grateful for Billie's threat of the empty cause he knew he'd never make heaven and the idea of returning to hell terrified him.

Dean and even Castiel and tried to reassure him he'd more than made up for any mistakes or grievous sin, but he had never been able to make peace with that thought.

Dad

And wasn't that multiple papers for a therapist to make a name for themselves writing.

He loved his dad but despised the person he became.

He had at one point in his life resented everything his dad stood for. The hunting, constant moving and overall danger had made him angry to the point of despair over his life

He'd hated he and Dean not being first in John's life. Their safety and care should have been top priority.

It never had been. There had been too many nights of not enough foods, too many days of hiding from motel managers and CPS for him to ever feel any measure of comfort with his childhood.

If it hadn't been for Dean, he firmly believed he'd have been dropped off somewhere and conveniently forgotten. But with a built in mom, dad and babysitter, John had never exercised that option.

'Wonder how that would have turned out?' came unbidden. The answer would always be a question unanswered. He did know if he and Dean had been separated, things would have gone oh so much worse.

Keeping he and his brother together had been one right thing he could credit his dad for.

After Jess, he'd gotten a better understanding of his dad, and could respect his decisions better. He's understood better his desire to find yellow eyes and revenge.

The cost of the search had been too high and while he had learned to respect his dad, he had never quite been able to forgive.

With a small wry smile at that thought, Sam recognized he was his father's son.

/

Cold. He was so cold he was shivering.

He could no longer feel his legs. Please God, no paralysis.

/

Bobby

While his regrets were fewer with Bobby, there were a few.

He loved Bobby, he really did, but he sometimes wish they'd never contacted the other man.

If they hadn't maybe, just maybe Bobby would still be alive. On the other hand, he and Dean would be dead a dozen times over if not for Bobby.

He regretted Bobby's death more than even John's. He's supported not criticized, taught not bullied and simply saw them as Sam and Dean not soldiers in an unending relentless war.

John taught them shadows, Bobby allowed them to see light.

And here was another deep mark on his soul: he's tried to kill him. While intellectually he realized it had simply been a matter of survival for his soulless self, emotionally he held himself to complete blame.

He knew Bobby had forgiven him, God knew he knew that. He just had never been able to forgive himself.

He missed the man who over the years had been a father figure to them, who fed them when they were hungry, placed a roof, however temporary, over their heads, provided info as needed and kicked their behinds when necessary.

He hoped Bobby had been allowed back to whatever his heaven had been before he'd given it up to once more help them.

He wanted Bobby to be happy. He's like to see that, but he firmly believed heaven wasn't for him.

He'd regret never seeing Bobby Singer again.

Castiel

So many conflicted feelings ran through him every time he thought of the angel.

While he was grateful for all the help he'd given them over the years, he also harbored a lot of anger toward Castiel.

Anger over how the angel had helped to manipulate them into almost ending earth and its people.

Anger and shame over their first meeting where the angel had looked at him as if he wasn't fit to exist.

Anger over his threats of sending Dean to hell again if he didn't do as he ordered him.

Anger over Castiel letting him out of the panic room. Would things have worked out as they had if he'd stayed locked up? He honestly couldn't say, but he did believe it would have made things harder where Ilchester was concerned.

Would he have listened? Maybe, maybe not but it would have been another roadblock in "The Plan".

Cas' breaking of the wall had left him twitchy around the angel. If Cas came upon him unexpectedly, the memories of the cage and his soulless self rose like a tsunami and momentarily threatened to overwhelm him. He'd always managed to push them down but always wondered if the angel knew how he reacted to him. If he did, did he care? Had he brought him back soulless on purpose to try to completely split the two brothers up?

Lying there, Sam thought he may have done the soulless thing as a carpe diem, but the wall was intentional. He'd never forgive or get over the damage done in the name of Castiel's 'greater good'.

The big one though was getting Lucifer out of the cage. He would never forgive what he saw as complete disloyalty of every apology, usually made to Dean, every instance of help, every word of friendship Castiel had ever made.

Even if he moved past his own feelings, the betrayals of Dean and his willingness to lent the angel a helping hand when he stumbled would never be forgiven.

Unacceptable.

Cas had always been Dean's friend and protector first and he been sorted of accepted by osmosis. Then again why would angel want to buddy up to the Boy King? He was, "after all an abomination".

That was okay with him. It wasn't…painful just a little sad.

Funny that it took lying smashed like a pinata on the cold, wet ground for him to have a moment of bitter sharp clarity; he never had and probably never would trust the angel.

And wasn't that just the icing on the cake?

/

He was getting sleepy but knew had to stay awake.

He wanted to be warm again, to not hurt.

He wanted Dean.

/

 _And when you meet a girl you love accordin' to life's plan_

 _The day you age you count the middle finger of your hand_

Funny how so much in his life had lead back to Jess.

For two plus years she'd been his all. Then her death had been his reason to continue. The hunt for her killer had been all consuming but finding out she'd been set up to die had killed a part of him that had never resurrected.

He could concede and accept that about himself now. It was ugly maybe, but real life was that way he supposed. It was messy, ugly and often seemed too hard to bear.

He'd had every intention of marrying her, settling down and having kids. Blond kids with her smile and personality, her smarts and compassion.

He'd gotten her killed but prayed she had forgiven him and was happy. Maybe, if she ever thought of him in her hereafter, she remembered him lovingly. He hoped so. It would be nice to be thought of with kindness by her.

His Jess. So strong and beautiful.

He'd cared for Madison, lusted after Ruby and knew in time he could have loved Sarah. He also knew no one could have ever completely taken her place in his heart.

It would have been so unfair, he mused, to have given himself over in a relationship he knew he'd never be able to fully engage in.

Would any serious relationship have withered and died because the other person would have to share him with a ghost? Probably.

Maybe it was a good thing he'd never truly fallen in love again.

He wondered what she was doing, who she was chatting with or what book maybe she was reading.

His Jess, his everything.

/

Giving a small laugh, which hurt like hell, Sam pondered his philosophical turn of thought.

He knew if help didn't come soon, he was going to die bleeding and broken on icy ground.

Funny, he always knew hunting would cost his life.

Knowing it and going through it were two different things.

He remembered a friend from Stanford who once remarked she'd never trust a promise from the universe itself cause the universe didn't know how to keep one.

She also claimed fate was a fickle bitch who deserved no trust or respect.

Maybe not fickle, he decided but a definite bitch. She'd certainly been a bitch in his life often enough.

Whatever could a group of 6 month olds have done to deserve the fate that had chased after them? Not just himself, but Andy, Max, Ava and all the other 'special' children.

'Special' his ass; damned before conception was more accurate.

The reason had been the apocalypse, but the why them, why their mothers had never really been answered and never would.

Tired, he was so tired but had to stay awake. He felt so fuzzy headed, so weak.

/

As he lay there, Sam slipped into the second stage of hypothermia.

His pulse and respiration had slowed and were getting slower.

His temperature was dropping.

Thought processes were becoming woolly, difficult to keep clear.

He just wanted to sleep, but knew he had to stay awake and wait for Dean. He wasn't sure why, but he knew he had to wait. Somehow it was important.

/

Deciding to concentrate once more on his fingers, he thought about the song that had been dancing through his head.

Furrowing his brow, he struggled to recall the next verse of it.

It took a few minutes, but finally he was able to remember.

 _When the Lord has blessed you with a tiny air_

 _Count the final finger say a thankful prayer_

He'd never really been sure what this meant exactly. Maybe air was supposed to mean heir, a new life coming into being?

He wasn't sure.

Sam knew he had no heirs, no child to carry on any legacy he may leave behind.

Maybe that was a good thing considering his past and the demon blood. What a thing to pass on to a child.

He couldn't do that to an innocent, so during a time he and Dean had separated he'd had surgery to make sure he couldn't commit what he felt would be an atrocity to a child.

The knowledge of no children had left a major unrelenting ache in his heart. Being a father and having his own family had been an even bigger dream than graduating university had been.

Jack was as close as he would ever come to fulfilling that dream. He knew Jack counted Castiel as his dad, but he felt he'd had some part in helping Jack become who he was.

While Jack struggled with this world, and his place in it, Sam wanted so much to believe he'd played a role in helping him deal with who and what he was.

He hoped Jack would be okay when he was gone.

/

Feeling something brush softly against his face, Sam opened his to see a starlight sky with a light snow falling.

The one thing he didn't need. More cold to add to his misery

/

So much was swirling through his head, he didn't hear the voices, especially THE voice desperately calling his name as rescue units searched the dark for him.

He didn't hear Dean screaming his name in sheer panic as he tore through the area looking for Sam.

He didn't see the emergency lights as they flashed on the ground looking for where he had stopped his downward plunge.

He didn't see the searchlight from the helicopter flying overhead as personnel tried to peer through the dense trees to see him.

/

 _Last of all you're countin' on the day your life is done_

Sam didn't want to die, but he knew he was minutes from slipping away.

Once more looking at his hand, he hoped Dean would be okay with what was happening. He wanted to beg a god he wasn't sure he believed in anymore to not let his brother do something stupid.

Promises had been made to let each other go, but Winchesters were kind of notorious for breaking promises as easily as they broke laws.

He wanted to see Dean again but he

Was

Just

So

Tired

/

Ground Rescue and Emergency Services were moving as quickly as possible across the snow covered ground looking for Sam.

When the frantic call had come in to 911, everyone knew this was going to be a rough one due to the terrain and biting cold.

The hysteria in the voice, who'd identified himself as the brother, had the units moving as fast as they could up the mountain to begin the process of finding the victim.

As the helicopter flew overhead providing much needed light, ropes were attached to trees so searchers could repel down searching every inch of the slope for what they hoped would be a living person.

More searchers had converged by New River to search along the river bank and into the tree line moving up to meet those coming down.

They all knew he was going to be in rough shape after such a fall.

As most of the rescuers began their desperate search, the rescuers left waiting above tried to think of everything they could possibly be dealing with when Sam was brought up for triage for the Life Flight.

Both were keeping a close eye on Dean who they feared would do something foolish if this turned from a rescue to recovery mission.

All tried to keep a watch, but somehow Dean had managed to take off down the trail to the riverbank. Hoping they wouldn't have two rescues on their hands, a radio was used to inform the ones below he was on his way.

It only took a few minutes, that seemed to stretch forever, for Dean to reach the bank and begin searching the tree line.

Walking a few feet in, but not so far as not to lose sight of the river, he began to yell Sam's name while doing a slow jog.

Dean was terrified. Losing Sammy was simply not an option he could or would accept.

Being alone wasn't his greatest fear, it was being alone because he'd screwed up and lost Sammy.

As he jogged along screaming his brother's name at the top of his lungs, Dean had gone from fear to sheer terror since Sam wasn't answering.

/

As Sam moved into 3rd stage hypothermia, the blood which had pooled into his organs to keep them working, suddenly rushed back into his extremities causing his body to feel the heat he'd been longing for.

He didn't realize he lay on the very cusp of death.

Just before falling unconscious, Sam tried to remember who he was waiting for and why.

/

So frightened, Dean almost didn't hear the yelled "Found him!"

Turning slightly to his left and inward, running full out, he came upon a scene from his nightmares

Flashing lights as people moved toward Sam with handheld flashlights, trees bending in macabre shapes twisting with the freezing wind, snow on already covered ground with more dancing in the chilled air. A dark ebon sky. The murmuring of the nearby river.

A person unmoving on the ground, bloody and broken.

Words, so many words

 _Bp_

 _Pulse_

 _O2 saturation_

 _Broken bones_

 _Bleeding_

 _Hypothermia_

 _Unconscious_

 _Temp 89 degrees_

 _Crisis_

Dean would never remember the short run over uneven ground to get to Sam. He'd never remember reaching his side or falling to his knees on the freezing wet ground.

He would remember blocking out everything but his brother lying there still, still as death.

That had him reaching a shaking hand to touch the person he saw, cause it couldn't be Sam.

Sam was never still, never not moving when awake. He was always moving, never this quiet.

Sam talked, even when reading. He walked, tapped fingers, moved his chair around. His bed was always a mess where he twisted and turned while asleep.

Even when eating, silverware twirled in his hands as he made a point about whatever they were talking about at the time.

This NotSam was so quiet, so still, so static not even his chest could be seen moving.

/

The next minutes, hours, days? passed like a series of photos to Dean, a series of flickers like snapshots in a scrapbook with nothing between them.

 _Flicker_

 _At the helicopter as Sam was being loaded with out any idea how either of them got there_

 _Flicker_

 _In the air heading for CAMC, not realizing that he was actually flying. It would a couple of days before he knew they were at Charleston Area Medical Center, the nearest trauma center._

 _Flicker_

 _Talking to two Doctors, mentions of surgery, repairs, what was Sam Courtland's blood type, allergies, so many questions he'd never remember all of them._

 _Flicker_

 _White walls, an uncomfortable orange chair, magazine and hours and hours of waiting._

 _Flicker_

 _Fear, so much fear that this time neither would recover. If Sam went, he knew he wouldn't last long. He'd never want to._

 _Flicker_

 _Not calling Castiel. After Gadreel's possession, Dean had taken a long hard look at some things Sam had said or hinted and realized Sam didn't trust the angel._

 _Maybe he needed to take a different look at a number of things._

 _Flicker_

 _Cups of hospital swill passing as coffee until a nurse took pity on the man barely hanging by his fingertips and showed him the staff room with better stuff._

 _Flicker_

 _Knowing the staff was watching him because if he received the worst news he too would need care_

 _Flicker_

 _Magazines, bathroom, and waiting always waiting._

And underlining everything, every breath was sheer unadulterated fear. Fear that death chased after Sam, relentlessly drawing closer each second.

/

Night passed to day to afternoon before there was any word.

Broken leg, set. Broken arm surgically repaired, internal injuries including a tear in the liver and damage to intestines repaired, lung reinflated, ribs wired as needed and the patient on a respirator, core temp up to 96, kidneys under close scrutiny etc., etc., etc.

Prognosis: Call family and friends to 'see' the patient as soon as possible for possible goodbyes.

There was no one to call.

It was time to wait.

/

Time is a strange thing when waiting with a life on hold.

At times it moves as slow as molasses on a frozen January day. Others, it speeds so fast you think you're going light speed and feel bewildered.

Even routines lose their newness over time. You know things segue from one routine to another, but lost in feelings, memories and flat out grief, they become predictable.

They become everything.

/

Blood pressure checks, oximeter checks, respirator checks were measured in 15 minute increments.

Respiratory and traction checks every 2 hours meant Sam was still alive.

Cleaning wounds and turning Sam became reminders about 4 hours had passed.

Doctors visits meant Sam had survived another 6 hours.

Blood being drawn meant repeated 24 hour sections with Sam still in this realm.

As segments of time moved forward, the prognosis for 'the patient' changed from a wait till the end to a slight change for the better, to 'Sam' stands a chance of living.

Intervals moved from Sam not breathing on his own to weaning off the respirator over a period of days.

Phases moved from a silent, unknowingly compliant Sam to occasional twitches and slight groans of agony as his body began to register its injuries.

Twitches eventually turned to moving limbs, groans became grunts in attempts to respond to the voices around him and unconsciousness grew into long periods of deep sleep broken by brief periods of disorientation.

Stitches were gently removed and physical therapy started when it finally became obvious Sam would survive.

It became a waiting game to see when he would awaken and respond to the world around him.

/

By his beside had sat a looming sentinel with many questions, many concerns and great anxiety. A sentinel who refused to leave the room, showered in the adjacent bath and been bribed with threats of being kicked out to eat or rest.

A sentinel with ever watchful eyes.

Eyes that had watched with a predator's focus on every move anyone had made upon entering the room. Assessing everyone for ill regard or bad intentions.

Eyes that had questioned every step of every procedure to make sure everything was done correctly each and every time.

Eyes that showed the greatest compassion when assisting with his brother's care.

Eyes that carried a haunted burden of responsibility, worry and deep, deep love.

Eyes that gradually lightened as the days passed and hope rose within the confines of the small room.

/

Nineteen days later, pain laden hazel eyes would finally open to steadily meet the emerald green ones that had waited for Sam to fully awaken.

Snow was pouring down and covering Charleston in a blanket of white. Overhead grey skies with heavy laden clouds loomed with the promise of more harsh weather.

Inside a particular hospital room, the day had never been more beautiful.


End file.
